


Just Add Water

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Virgin Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 19:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sex ed. In a bathtub.





	Just Add Water

**CyberLife’s Gold Label Cleansing Agent!**

_An electrolyte-rich formula for android care._

[Swoopy music, a shot of blue crystals falling in slow motion.]

_Colorfast and biodegradable!_

Once he sees it advertised on TV, Connor decides that he too needs the sketchy blue crystals. A box comes in the mail the next day, stamped with CyberLife’s austere branding, and a laundry list of chemical ingredients.

*

_Directions: Pour one sachet into thirty gallons of hot water (not boiling) and stir until crystals are completely dissolved. Let android soak for thirty minutes, then rinse and leave to dry. For best results, gently work solution into skin using a sponge or soft washcloth._

Friends or not, Hank can’t get over the weirdness of sponge-bathing a work colleague. The water is bright blue and strangely thick. All it reminds Hank of is diluted dishwashing liquid. It even smells like it. Hank dunks his sponge in it and wrings it out. Why not dump a bottle of Cascade in there? It was a third of the price. Probably wouldn’t do Connor any harm.

He moves the sponge in listless circles over Connor’s breastbone. This isn’t how he'd pictured spending his Saturday evening. He’s seen Connor’s butt now. Whatever. Not the end of the world. But his junk, or possible lack thereof, is  _right there_ , hidden under layers of fine, silky foam. Hank's done a good job of putting the inevitable on hold for twenty minutes or so, despite telling himself that it's going to be as meaningless as washing his car.

Connor's voice forces his mind to tune in again.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever touched me like this before.”

Hank probes him with a narrow expression. “Touched you like what?”

“Like this.”

Okay. It’s not in Connor’s nature to be cryptic. When Hank’s hand reaches his navel with the sponge, Connor tenses. “Lower.”

For once Hank hopes his hearing’s fucking failing him. “'Scuse me?”

“Touch me,” Connor repeats quietly. “Down there.”

If that’s really Connor’s cock he can feel against his forearm, it’s a respectable size. Hank wonders how many more ways this punk can show off his Vitruvian superiority over humankind. Or just him, really, in his own damn house.

“I have something to confess, lieutenant," Connor says, brimming with boy scout sincerity. “I saw you touch yourself while watching television two nights ago. I understood that you were simulating penetrative intercourse with your hand, but I couldn’t see much more, as you were doing it inside your jogging pants.”

Hank snatches his hand out of the water. “Were you spying on me, asshole?”

“Not spying. I was in the room with you, though you were not aware of my presence.”

“Yeah, because you don’t make any goddamn sound when you walk. You don’t even walk, you _creep_. You’re a creep, Connor.” Hank wrings out the sponge, and flings it on the floor.

“I’m not a creep, lieutenant,” says Connor ruefully.

"Yeah, right." It could be nothing but curiosity. Did it make Connor a pervert? Connor wasn't made exclusively for sex. He was equipped for it, sure, but no way was he prepared for the real deal. Human sex, that ugly collision of rank flesh and gristle that resulted in climax-- it would probably scar him for life. Hank sags against the edge of the tub. “Forget it.”

Connor endures the awkward silence without saying anything else. Ten minutes to go. Bored, Hank dips his hand in the bath, idly swirling the solution between Connor’s legs. It’s an accident when he brushes his fingers around Connor's shaft. He’s trying to be helpful when he starts jerking it steadily, up and down. “If it’s your first time, you might wanna start slow,” he murmurs, cheeks burning. “Everybody’s different, though.” It’s already like friggin’ iron in his grip. Is that how it is with androids? “Like it?” he adds gruffly. Connor doesn’t reply, transfixed by what’s being done to him. It’s nice to stand on higher ground for once, if only for a moment. “Does it feel good?”

“Good,” parrots Connor. Hank moves his hand faster. They might be friends, loosely termed, but Hank’s always wanted to pick Connor’s composure into tiny little pieces. Why? He isn’t sure. If this is how he has to do it, so be it. He plunges himself elbow-deep into the foam, working the base of Connor’s cock, coming up to squeeze its head through his soapy palm. Connor closes his eyes, brows drawn up, his body stretching the length of the tub. The motion sends water sloshing over the sides, soaking Hank’s t-shirt.

“You gonna come?”

Connor shudders violently. “Hank, I--” Hank can tell the word ‘come’ drives a spike right through Connor’s brain. It’s hatching programs long dormant within his system.

“Come. Do it.”

Connor comes all over himself. Hank keeps stroking, pulling away so that Connor has to hold his hips above the water, fucking Hank’s fist, helpless, convulsed in an imitation of orgasm. When the spasms subside Hank lets him go, and Connor’s lower half sinks back under the water. There’s globs of android semen in it now. Hank’s fingers are glued together with the stuff. He wipes it absently on his t-shirt. “Anyway,” he mutters, dazed, “That’s how you do… that.”

“Thank you,” says Connor sleepily. He sits up. “It's time for me to get out now.”

Hank bites the inside of his cheek. “Oh.”

“I just need to be rinsed with clean, warm water. Preferably heated to thirty-seven degrees celsius.”

“This shower doesn’t have fancy temperature controls like that,” says Hank irritably.

“Warm, then,” smiles Connor. He stays where he is, poised for whatever’s coming next.

Hank hauls himself off the floor. His boxers are soaked in the front, the fabric clinging to his boner. His t-shirt can’t even hide it. He pulls out the bath plug, then reaches over and turns on the shower. Water strikes Connor in steaming waves, sluicing the residue from his body. Hank can see that Connor’s cock is still erect, submerged again but visible beneath the cloudy surface of the solution.

Hank peels down the waistband of his boxers, so that his hard dick lolls out. It can't be called a power move; Connor’s pulling his strings here, revealed by how quickly he stops basking in the spray and rises to a crouch in front of Hank.

Hesitant at first, he combs his fingers curiously through Hank’s damp pubic hair. Hank’s skin prickles when, emboldened, Connor presses his nose to the pubis, his smooth jaw brushing against Hank’s rigid length. Hank hasn’t the capacity to feel embarrassed any more. He grits his teeth. He’s desperate. He’s so madly, sickeningly hard.

His dick twitches when Connor touches it. Slowly, Connor starts to masturbate its length. He traces his lips along its girth, almost a kiss, cautious of its veins and fragile tissues. His eyes search Hank’s for the answers. It’s everything and not enough. “In your mouth,” Hank grinds out. “Put my cock in your mouth.”

Connor obeys, barely hesitating as it slips in over his tongue. Hank’s knees buckle, so he grabs the shower curtain rail. He tries to angle himself better, thrusting gently, wanting to demonstrate to Connor what he likes. “Deeper,” he grunts. He inches his cock forward, butting up against a firm, mesh-y obstruction instead of a pharynx. Connor gags, an instance of gurgling static. “Okay, easy.” Hank pulls out part way. “Didn’t wanna choke you,” He pats Connor’s head apologetically. “Didn’t mean it.”

Connor’s adoring eyes say that he still wants to please. He puts his hand to the task, wringing Hank’s cock at the base, sucking just the head. Hank holds on some ten seconds before he is coming in long, aching spurts against the roof of Connor’s mouth. Connor draws every drop from the slit like poison, sucking him till the pleasure turns to acid. Hank crumples, pushing weakly against his forehead. “Okay, kid, stop now. Stop now.” Connor puts up some resistance, getting smeared with fake spit and Hank’s semen. He’s rubbing himself against the oily side of the tub, stiff, dripping, coming while he nurses Hank’s cock with the tip of his tongue. That one sweet point of contact almost hurts. “ _Connor!_ ” At last Connor slumps back against the tiled wall behind him, his own come trickling down between his legs. A metallic gurgle signifies that the last of the blue fluid has drained out of the bath. It’s over.

Hank prises his fingers off the curtain rail. It’s bent from the grip he’d had on it. His arm fucking hurts. _Everything_ hurts. Connor remains where he is, eyes half-closed, not breathing. Hank prods Connor’s LED a few times. “Connor. Hey. Wake up.” Connor blinks, and there is a muted whirring as his servos recalibrate. For a moment he seems surprised at being drenched and naked in a bathtub. “I am running a diagnostic report," he announces. "Please wait. I may have recently rebooted from a system crash.”

Hank strips out of his shirt and boxers and kicks them into a corner. ‘Crash’ is right. He’s about to sleep for thirty goddamn years. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, lieutenant," replies Connor at once, now back to his old self. "Sleep well.”

Hank pauses at the bathroom door. “You’re welcome, by the way, for the, uh--”

“For the lesson?”

"Yes. The... lesson."

"Until next time?"

'Next time'?! Way to jump the gun, Connor.

 

...How many sachets of that stuff left to go?

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, orphaned and thrown into the hot dry winds of the D:BH tag before anyone I know finds out that I've posted porn on the internet. No one can prove it was me... NO ONE! >:)  
> Shitty ending and much shoehorning of characters into a dumb porn premise, but I wanted to read something like it, so I wrote it.  
> Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
